


The Pattern Never Alters

by AliuIce0814



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, frerin is the most important little brother in the history of little brothers, i just love families okay, minimal use of khuzdul, oh god why am i even attempting this, stupid codependent brothers, stupid line of durin, thorin just wants to protect the boys, written at one in the morning oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliuIce0814/pseuds/AliuIce0814
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin will never stop seeing the shadow of his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pattern Never Alters

**Author's Note:**

> The "graphic depiction of violence" is brief and not all that graphic, but I figured I'd tag it as such in case it might bother you.

            “Thorin?” Frerin whispers. Thorin blinks awake to find his younger brother’s face an inch from his own. They sleep on the edge of the wild. Tomorrow, they will reach Moria. In the moonlight, Frerin looks even smaller than usual, round-cheeked like a child. _He is a child_ , Thorin thinks, and then, _not anymore_. Before he can ask Frerin what the matter is, Frerin sighs. “Never mind.” He nudges Thorin’s forehead with his own before he rolls over and feigns sleep.

...

            “Uncle?” Kíli whispers. Thorin’s been awake for what feels like hours, listening to Bofur and the burglar speak of the home they do not have. He rolls over to find his nephew’s face an inch from his own. In the dim light of the cave, Kíli looks fragile, nothing like the bright-eyed archer who barrels headlong into battle. He has never been a child, Thorin thinks. He has never had the chance. His stomach lurches at the memory of Frerin, so small—too small, damn everyone who let him fight, damn Thorin himself for putting his brother in danger. Thorin makes to tug Kíli’s hair, to tip their foreheads together, but then he hears sand slipping through a crack in the cave floor. He cries out a warning, but they’re already falling down, down, down—

…

            “I want to fight.”

            Frerin says it stubbornly, with all the bravado of an adolescent. He stands before the king with his scruffy chin held high. Thorin scowls at him from his place by the makeshift throne. Frerin knows better than to ask for this, especially when Thrór is half-mad. If Frerin gets boxed around the ears for his troubles, he had better not come crying to Thorin. He’ll find no comfort from his older brother.

            Interest flickers in Thrór’s old, glazed eyes. “You want?” he rumbles. Frerin nods, completely forgetting his manners. Thorin struggles not to roll his eyes. The damn fool will get his ears boxed _before_ his audience is over. Thrór has no patience for anyone anymore, least of all half-grown Dwarrows overeager for battle. To his surprise, Thrór leans forward, his face nearly touching Frerin’s. Frerin’s breath catches in his throat. “You have your wish,” the mad king says.

            Thorin barely hears Frerin’s yelp of triumph over the rush of blood in his ears.

…

            “I want to fight,” Fíli says, half-grown and golden. Thorin hits him across the face so hard that they both stumble backward. Fíli comes away from it with blood on his nose and tears in his eyes. “Uncle,” he gasps.

            “No.” Thorin’s voice cracks across the stone room. He will teach his nephews to war, but he will not lead them to war yet. He ignores the sickness in the pit of his stomach. He ignores Dís’ furious stare, too, and the way his nephews skirt around him for weeks. Fíli never calls him “uncle” again, but he survives the years Frerin did not.

…

            Before he has any words, Frerin learns to open the door to Thorin’s room. Though he can barely walk, he is strong enough to heave himself onto Thorin’s bed. The first time it happens, Thorin shoves him away. Frerin sprawls on the stone floor. Thorin hauls him back up before the babe can begin to sob. “Only for tonight,” he mumbles. Frerin chews on Thorin’s hair and spends the rest of his life claiming half of Thorin’s possessions as his own.

…

            Fíli’s first word is “up.” Kíli reaches wordlessly, his dark eyes imploring. Thorin ignores them both the first time they do it—and the second, and the third. It’s only on nights full of thunder, nights when half the camp flies awake, screaming from fear of dragon fire, that Thorin gives into his nephews’ pleas. He rocks one in each arm while Dís shudders and Dwalin paces back and forth, back and forth. The babes fall asleep with Thorin’s hair held tight in their fists.

…

            “Don’t,” Thorin tells Frerin many a time. _Don’t touch my belongings, don’t chew on my hair, don’t pester adad, don’t go near the king, don’t swing your axe like that, don’t fall asleep during your watch_ —He’s lucky if Frerin listens to half his orders. Frerin is the little brother, after all. He loves Thorin and follows him with wide-eyed adoration, but he won’t miss the opportunity to give him a little grief. His apologies come with shuffled feet and mischievous glances. Thorin cuffs him over the head and laughs when he’s not looking.

…

            “Don’t,” Thorin tells Fíli and Kíli many a time _. Don’t run off, don’t frighten your amad, don’t speak when your elders are speaking, don’t string your bow like that, don’t gossip during your watch_ —He’s lucky if they listen to half his orders in the beginning. Once they join his company, though, following him without question, they learn to listen. Listen, or he’ll box their ears, cut their portion of supper to the bare minimum, ignore them for a full day. They are princes, after all. Fíli will be king someday. He has to learn respect. He has to behave uprightly. As for Kíli, he causes more trouble the older he gets, but Fíli covers his tracks. Thorin pretends he doesn’t see the mischief in his younger nephew’s eyes. Let them have their little secrets as long as he has their loyalty.

…

            “Thorin,” Frerin gasps, plunging at him from the writhing mass of bodies. All Thorin can see is the whites of his eyes. There’s a snap, the sound of Frerin’s spine cracking like thunder, and his eyes roll up in his head. The orc behind him cleaves him in half before Thorin can do more than roar. Hot blood sprays across Thorin's skin. He kills and kills, but it does not clean the last red traces of his brother's life from his hands—

            “Thorin,” Fíli says, shaking Thorin’s shoulders. Thorin jerks upright, taking great gulps of air. The coldness of the night slaps him in the face. Fíli watches him with worried eyes. He is sterner now, no longer the child who begged to fight. Thorin no longer mistakes him for Frerin; the lad is older than his uncle ever was by decades.

            “Uncle?” Kíli creeps out of the shadows to sit at his brother’s shoulder. He watches Thorin warily. He, too, is no longer a babe, but in the shadow of the night, after reliving Frerin’s death for the thousandth night, Thorin cannot see him as anything but. He grabs both his nephews by the back of their neck and tugs them against him. Kíli goes easily, curling himself smaller so his head rests against Thorin’s shoulder. His hand automatically goes to Thorin’s hair. Thorin thinks of long thunderous nights rocking the wee one to sleep and, years before that, a tiny golden child chewing on his hair. He does not scold Kíli.

            “Boys,” Thorin says around the tightness in his chest.

            “It’s all right.” Fíli bumps his forehead against Thorin’s. “We aren’t going anywhere.”

            Thorin grips them tight and prays that it’s true.  

**Author's Note:**

> Ack, what am I doing? The brother feels always get to me in the end. Maybe it's because, deep down, all I want is a baby brother. I...don't have any excuse for this fic other than to say it's 1:23 AM as I post this. It's probably vaguely AU. I probably don't give a damn.


End file.
